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King Kheldar vos Correlli

Dark Sun Station

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There was no need to give the order or to divert A-Wings; anti-missile drills were a familiar routine to every naval officer who served with Admiral Slaughter. The Incisor, a swift Warrior-class Frigate that crossed along the arc of the flagship’s bow, began blasting away at the incoming siege torpedos with her laser cannons and antimissile octets. Unless the torpedoes were composed of the hideously expensive diamond-boron alloy, very little would remain of them save for a magnificent explosion and jagged shard of steel housing flying at a respectable fraction of lightspeed.

 

His attention, at that moment, was divided between the movements of the Jedi on their flank and the probing attack by the two DP20 Corvettes. Small, light, and maneuverable, the sister ships twisted their way through a hail of turbolaser fire with an agility that some starfighter pilots would have admired. Just like the flotilla behind them, they shifted their fire from the frantically weaving starfighters towards the incoming missiles, spattering the black with spots of red-orange fire and granting several of their starfighter escorts a reprieve from their evasive maneuvers. To their dismay, however, their missile launchers were unable to find targeting solutions on the incoming fighters.

 

But they were dying. The ships were never intended for a prolonged engagement of capital ships, and each hit of a turbolaser on their shields was devastating. The port shields on the Audacity buckled and fell after being caught by a long-range hit, and though the agile little corvette immediately rolled to present an undamaged flank, it was only a matter of time before that other flank fell or the fighters strafed its unshielded port. Slaughter considered calling recalling the corvettes, but his line of thought was interrupted by another message from the crew pits.

 

“Sir, another entry from hyperspace.” The Admiral felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his back. “It’s the Scarab.”

 

Had Slaughter looked off to starboard, he would have seen a vast, seemingly malevolent triangular craft rush out of hyperspace akin to the spearhead of an ancient polearm. But there was no need, as that dominating presence filled the holographic tactical pit dwarfed even the stylized, geometric symbols that indicated the presence of the allied and Sith ships. Few events focused the mind quite like the reversion of a Star Dreadnought from hyperspace within firing range.

 

“Right, never mind the maneuvers,” Slaughter heard himself saying. “Just go straight at ‘em, flank speed. Don’t stop for anything. Even shields, all firepower to front. Whatever the Jedi shoot at, we blast ‘em.”

 

The overmatched corvettes would not have to fall back, as reinforcements were coming to them. The sublight engines of the main line of the Galactic Alliance bloomed blue-white as they accelerated towards Dark Sun Station, followed by a wave of crimson rain that focused on the Sariel’s Judgement. That sheet of light was answered by the hundreds of pinpricks of fighters that had been allowed to slip from their hangars--first, naturally, the A-Wing interceptors, whose pilots floored their throttles with stereotypical aplomb and sent their craft racing above and below the dogfight in an attempt to catch the ARC fighter-bombers outside of the protective arc of their jamming projectors.

 

The remainder of the fleet plowed into the fray with all the subtlety of an irritated reek charging into a tourist’s landspeeder. The Phalanx, an obsolete Dreadnaught, finally met a task suitable for its hull as a stable, heavily-armored platform as her myriad laser batteries blasted away at the squadrons of starfighters. The Kalidor added to the antistarfighter barrage and swatted missile after missile out of the void. Steadfast and Fidelity, true to Admiral Slaughter’s orders, stopped for nothing.

 

The Misericordia, at the rear of the allied formation, was left behind. But the crew of Imperial II-class Star Destroyer had no intention of being left out of the glory. The black dagger turned towards the Adi-wan and her engines lit up to join her, both flanks alight in turbolaser fire. On her port, the barrage was focused on the Sariel’s Judgement; her vengeance was directed towards the Warspite on her starboard.

 

Summary:

Audacity and Surprise take significant damage due to being singled out by the Black Sun fleet, but are joined by the remainder of the fleet.

A-Wings focus on ARCs responsible for sensor jamming.

Lighter ships in the GA formation blast away missiles before returning to antistarfighter duty.

GA capital ships focus turbolaser fire on the VSD Sariel’s Judgement and charge forward.

ISD-II Misericordia turns to join the Jedi flagship Adi-wan and fires upon the Warspite in the Sith fleet.

 

((1))

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... need to be made an example of... 

 

Aleria's one green eye drifted to just behind the Kel-Dor's head, followed slowly by her artificial one, and set on a durasteel fixture jutting oddly from the wall. It looked like a vent of some kind that didn’t seem to make any perceptible ventilation sounds. In fact, the more she looked at it, the less she truly understood about its function or its placement. It just sat there immutable and quiet; indignant to any definition. It was almost serene. But everything had a purpose; a direction, right? Even some mysterious gray wall thing had something. Just sabering it from the wall could cause damage. And the damage might be minor, but it would remain until someone came to replace or fix it. But who’s to say that it's wrong? What if it was meant to be cut off? Who can really say or dictate whether something is better in one place than another?

 

Aleria’s forehead glinted under the bright ship lights. She reflexively rubbed at it with the back of her left arm and paused, grazing the tip of her organic finger over the seam between her real face and her synthetic one, mulling over the significance of her accident. She remembered the sage words of Roene and her former master but nothing seemed to apply here. Nothing of this moment reminded her of the order she grew up with. 

 

Then liquid darkness clawed at the ebb of her mind. Spidery appendages delicately pawed at the myriad of organic and synthetic parts of her spine as they climbed the length, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. Aleria quickly snapped her head to another part of the docking bay. Her face was the color of alarm with maybe a touch of excitement. Her hilts lept to her hands and her lips crooked in a slight smile as her former confusion was met with sterling clarity. Wrong or right, this fight just got a lot more interesting. 

 

The young Jedi, realizing her defensive instincts took hold, replaced her hilts at her hips and found Kel’s gaze once more. 

        “You felt that too, huh, Kel? Looks like the Sith came to rumble. As to what you said, I'll do my best. Regardless, we need to get back on that assault shuttle, follow me.” 

 

With no more preamble, Aleria scurried back onto the assault shuttle with - hopefully - Kel following behind. She ignored any and all ire she and Kel wrought from Sanderson due to their absence and waited for her turn to march.

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Mordeci hadn't noticed the Dark Lord's presence. Not at first. It had been so ineffably powerful that he didn't realize the growing power on the edges of his mind until Valinor told him of its existence, writhing like a mass of shadowy snakes that were coiled to strike. His hand drifted to his lightsaber almost instinctively. Whoever the Dark Lord was... He was dangerous. More dangerous than anyone he'd want to encounter here, in the past, or in the near future. And yet, here he was, on this warship. In the midst of a battle he knew nothing about. Suddenly, he felt like a child. He knew not the power he toyed with, not as these Sith Lords did.

 

If he were to make his mark, he would need to learn.

 

Before him, as Lord Valinor motioned, he took in the troops' emotions. Pride, anticipation at the battle to come, mixed with the sickly sweet fear of death. He feflt power, though it seemed to pale in comparison to the Dark Lord's. He turned to face Lord Valinor, eager to prove himself worthy to be called a sith, like those around him.

 

"You say the Jedi are coming. Where will they strike? I shall meet them in battle. I shall wet my blade with their blood."

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| Capital Ship Group |

 

Sariel's Judgement’s crew were shaken by the heavy fire directed towards the victory class star destroyer. Perspiration stood out on foreheads as fingers flew across control consoles to direct the energy from turbolasers towards the shielding before any significant hits went spiraling through the weakening shields. Several heavy turbolaser bolts fired from the massing Galactic Alliance fleet snuck through in the seconds between shield reinforcement cycles and smashed into the upper armour layers on the upper decks of the Victory class star destroyer. Two of the turbolaser batteries lost power or were ventilated as the duo of turbolaser shots melted armour and decking away in great black scores across the hull. Great bubbles of melted durasteel and carbide composites glowed orange red in the darkness of space as several dozen of the crew were boiled alive at their posts. The shields closed back up over the holes, but the captain knew that several more hits like that, and the Sariel's Judgement would be space debris, leaking oxygen and lives into the void of space. The ship continued to fire at the advancing fleet, but the cycle of the guns were slowed as the shield drew more power away from the main reactor. 

 

The rest of the Black Sun fleet began to work in earnest to address the advancing fleets. The two other victory class star destroyers turned their forty combined Ion cannons as well as several well aimed turbolasers to address the Incisor who was busy savaging away at the siege torpedoes from the St. Cathryne. She continued to let loose load after load of the expensive torpedoes, adding to their weight with her medium turbolasers, all guided from the sensor data of the Marie.  

 

The rest of the fleet turned their formidable connonade upon the Steadfast itself, as the Canto Bight Fiasco, Totenkopf II and the Rhoades spurred forward to address the charging fighters with their specialized laser cannons. Their turbolasers engaging the supporting corvettes and gunships. 

 

The fleet stood ready, and the capitals allowed the failing Sariel's Judgement to open a breach in their second line of defense. Inviting the advancing fleet to enter the grinding maw of the combined star destroyers. 

 

Summary: 

Sariel's Judgement takes moderate damage, slowing its batteries and shields begin to fail. 

Victory class star destroyers Red Hussar and Silent Spring Begin to focus on the anti missile ship Incisor. 

Small ships engage the charging starfighters as well as the charging anti-starfighter ships. 


 

| Starfighter \ Fighter Bomber Group |

 

The ARC’s when their sensors picked up the charging A-Wings cut back on their throttles, allowing the black sun Awings, XJs, and expensive TIE Defenders following them to charge through to decisively engage the Galactic Alliance A-wings. They had avoided most of the fire of the capital ships by staying behind the ARC’s jamming fields until the ARCs cut their sensor pods allowing the massed starfighters clear avenues of engagement. The old designed fighterbombers slowed in the melee and added their own missile volleys to the fray. Guided by the sensors of the Marie and the rest of the fleet. THe Kwings fired their heavy missile volleys to the attack on the supporting corvettes and gunships. Allowing a hail of torpedoes and concussion missiles to speed towards the unsupported smaller ships

 

Summary:

The entire starfighter wing engages the A-Wings. 

The K-Wings engaged the capitals supporting the GA fighters from range. 

 

| Dark Sun Defensive Group | 

 

The Station began to attack the advancing second Jedi Fleet with accurate turbolaser fire and torpedoes. 

 

((2))

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((I only just realized that I accidentally posted under this account for Bruce Slaughter. Apologies for the error. I’ll post the character that I’m writing for in every future exchange.

 

Armiena Draygo))

 

“I sympathize. This will be a learning experience for both of us.” Draygo forced a smile and she punched at a compartment below her control surfaces. It fell open with a hollow clank, revealing a kilometer of optical fibre, a stack of circuit boards… and a single datapad. “Really,” she arched an eyebrow. “Only one operations manual for a two-seater?”

 

She tossed it back towards her apprentice and laid her hands on the controls. “All these gadgets that built into starfighters are handy, but nothing beats instinct. I’ve yet to encounter a targeting computer that beats the Force.”

 

Armiena closed her eyes and pushed her back into the firm cushioning of the ejection seat. The dull thrumming of its sublight engines pressed lightly against her right side, and the idling repulsorlifts vibrated lightly under her feet. Around her a surprising amount of energy pulsed through the fighter--the snubfighter clearly boasted an impressive weapons suite and a powerful shield array. An unfamiliar coiling ringed the cockpit, just slightly behind the back of her head. The veteran Jedi had no idea what function this mechanism played, but she would surely find out momentarily.

 

She breathed in.

 

The engines exhaled for her.

 

“Yes. I can do this,” Armiena intoned, her voice having taken on a dreamy quality. Her hands played over the controls in a practiced motion, smoothly retracting the ship’s landing gear, triggering repulsorlifts, and the sublights to propel them from the hangar with an ease that more closely resembled a hardened pilot with many hours of experience. And then they were out in space, the hull of the Nebula-class Star Destroyer rapidly diminishing behind them. They formed up with the remainder of the fighters from the Mandate, approaching the Black Sun fleet.

 

That was when the Star Dreadnought reverted from hyperspace. A tremor ran through the B-Wing’s hull as Armiena’s hand involuntarily twitched and deployed the fighter-bomber’s S-foils into attack position.

 

“Oh.” That was all she had to say in response to the arrival of the Sith fleet. A flick of her left hand reinforced the B-Wing’s forward shields in preparation for the first cataclysmic exchange of fire with the Black Sun.

 

____

 

Many kilometers behind her, Master Sergeant Liliu Kamakaeha gawped at the mess of daggers, blaster power cells, and what appeared to be two low-yield thermal detonators that were left on the formerly pristine deck of her hangar. The curses that escaped her lips could not be recorded on this website, but they were primarily aimed at Armiena Draygo specifically, and the Jedi in general for not adhering to military discipline and leaving divots and explosives on the deck of her hangar.

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Posted (edited)

-Neo Krell-

 

A blackened blade split the darkness of space and emerged from its hidden confines as the Sith Armada made it's march of war upon the unsuspecting Alliances of the Paragons of Light with the mighty Scarab heading the spear as they exited hyperspace. Cold and deadly omens could be felt through-out its entirety as slivers of darkness crept up the spines of those they targeted. As he watched from the Bridge beside the Dark King, Neo Krell could only smile as the drums of war beat deep within his heart, its rhythm pumping the hastened flow of blood and adrenaline as his silver locks flowed fanciful upon the power that began to emanate from within him. Behind him stood his faithful Forja Sitmyr and the Tukata Hounds upon each side, Skoll and Hati unbound beside their darkened Master as their noses drew to the air and sniffed its bountiful fragrance.

 

As Neo called upon his power, he stepped forward and rose his head, letting a ferocious howl flow forth from his diaphragm just as Skoll, Hati, the Forja Sitmyr and attending hounds resounded it in favor, the bonds of the Force shared between them creeping across the crevasses of their shared minds and hearts as it echoed in that of their allies and ached to flow into them as well, strengthening their resolve and fortitude as it carried its self through the Sith Armada.

 

((Sith Fleet Assist - Battle Meditation))

 

-Mjan-

 

A cold sliver of darkness crept up his spine as Mjan's gaze fell upon the Sith Fleet as it emerged from hyperspace, the Jedi Knight's blood flushing from his red skinned face as it turned a ghostly pink at the sight. Even for a Tsis, it was a dreadful omen to behold such might and raw power. 

 

"So much a quiet evening." Rose chimed in as orders came across the channels, bringing the Jedi back to reality from the horror. "You heard the higher ups. Let's break out the welcome wagon."

 

A confirmed agreement came across from his squad mates as Mjan resounded his own before the X-Wings fired up their engines and giant squared formations of fights began their escort of their flagships toward the Dark Sun Station. He knew it was going to be a fire fight. He only hoped he survived it to see the fireworks.

 

-Genesis-

 

"Sometimes natural reactions just outright beat good old fashioned preparations." - Genesis Stromhelm

 

I was in the middle of overlooking the datapad when Armien's sudden jerk of the controls suddenly brought me back to reality and my grip lost its touch upon the datapad I had been scrolling through when my gaze caught sight of the Star Dreadnought before us, my jaw dropping and a chill causing my form to briefly shiver at its sight.

 

"M-Ma-Master?" I managed to mumble out as my hands reached for the ion cannon controls out of reflex. "What do you mean by 'oh'?"

 

Unlike Coruscant, here I suddenly found myself not knowing how to react and in a sense, froze in the moment. And my Master's simply reply only confused my brain even more as the Darkness emanating from the recent arrivals crept into my core and sent my emotions on the fritz. Closing my eyes, I focused my breathing, attempting to restore my suddenly lost harmony.

 

-Mythos-

 

As the bombardment began, Mythos stood in cold dead silence as the ship rocked back and forth despite still having been issued clearance to leave the hangar. He had long settled himself despite the roaring the klaxons and the sounds of orders and stationary calls being constantly issued across the channels, the Marshal honed to reserve himself whilst in the thickest of things. But yet, he was even surprised when he heard mention of the Sith's arrival to aid their comrades. It was unusual, especially for the power hungered mystics.

 

"Calm yourselves." Mythos grimaced toward the troops whom had grew fearful within the confines of the metallic tomb they thought they were trapped in, turning his gaze toward the pilots behind him. "Get us to that Station now."

 

If one had been looking in, you could tell that the pilot wanted to wait for their orders, but few were brave enough to disregard orders from a Shistavanen, especially one so big. And in minutes, Mythos and his troops found themselves in the blackness of space with a small squadron of escorts. The ships rocked about like a bobber upon a lake as the surrounding fish attempted to take hold of its line, explosions and bolts of fire whizzing about all around them, some of the men yelping like cowards while others kept their composure despite the few odd glares toward Mythos.

 

As for Mythos, he stood once again in silence, preparing himself for what laid ahead. Oh the destruction he would reap on these criminals, these outlaws. But it wouldn't replace what he wished to do to the Mandalorians whom had attacked his beloved Coruscant. Such dreams only tempered a beast for so long.

Edited by Mythos
Edited to include a brief reply from Genesis

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First Impressions

 

As Karys stood observing the sight before him, silent as the other sith moved about around him, he couldn't help but smile a little even if inside he boiled with a silent rage, the wounds of Kuat ever evident. The thrill of war was a scent he could never ignore, forever it would draw him and entice him like a fine wine, forever would they be linked to the other. As the massassi observed the flanks of enemy ships before him from one of the observation ports on the Scarab, he couldn't help but chuckle.


He had to admire the gall of the jedi and indeed all those who stood opposing them. They had walked willingly to their doom, knowing this might be their end and all to rescue one person. It appeared the Empress had more value than he had initially fathomed, that they would risk destruction for her sake. Yet if it was death they wanted, he would not deny them. 

Indeed he had hoped it would come to this. He was owed vengeance, at this he saw it that way...death for the taking of his arm and the humiliation they had caused him to suffer since that day. Only a month ago had he awoken from his coma, the visions that had woken him still seeming fresh. He was still unsure what they meant only that they were important and were not to be ignored. But that was something to dwell on later for now he had a battle to help win. Without another moments notice he marched towards the hangars, purpose in his steps. Although he didn't tend to fly often, Karys was a excellent starfighter pilot, years as a mercenary before his life as a sith had honed his skills in that arena, and today he would put those skills to use laying waste to his most hated of enemies. The Jedi were here in force and he intended to inflict countless suffering upon them. The wrath of him and his people would be known. 
 

Finding a suitable craft he was soon airborne and joining the fray outside looking, at first defending the Scarab before getting a bit more aggressive as things were developing. Soon defense became offense as he glided between the dark of space and the many stars around them. It wasn't long before the first of many victims fell to his laser fire and pinpoint accuracy, expertly guided by his own hand. At least for now, he knew if needed he could always call upon the force to assist him. And yet as he fought he felt the wave of pain, death, destruction, chaos around him. And the boosting affects of the battle meditation likewise boosted his proficiency. 
 

Like a dark vengeful demon, he stalled his prey. And yet among the chaos he was sure he felt something strange, familiar and yet not. He put the thought aside, it was probably nothing important and besides now was no time to dwell on it. Not during a time of battle at least.  

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Posted (edited)

 

The Ad Hoc war council dissolved, and Tobias was left to look around at the beings crammed in the assault shuttle with him. The few Jedi Knights that were assigned to him, two Jedi Masters, two apprentices, and the pilots. While he would have rather been on his tricked out YT ship, the assault ship was made for this entire situation- taking hits in combat but still being able to deliver infiltrators and survive the clash. 

 

To his relief the YT ship was flying along the outskirts of the battlefield, neither engaging or actively helping the Jedi. They were there just in case something went catastrophically wrong. And within the first few moments of the battle- it did.  He felt the whirlwind as it arrived, and his heart broke as the sudden ramifications flooded his mind. Scenarios played out a dozen a second. 

 

Despite being crammed into the box, he never felt so helpless. He wished he could be in two places at once, and that DuVos had never left with Sarah; that was in the past now and there wasn’t any changing that best to focus on other things. The other Jedi in the shuttle looked at one another, uncertain. If this was how the Force wanted to play things out, this was how he would play them out. He would not ignore his role in the situation, nor the Jedis role. A moment later, Tobias flooded his presence with confidence and determination, and settled into his pre-fight meditation. Collecting the Force around him and drawing it in. It was as if the Force was a hurricane and raining power into a reservoir that he had full control over the button that determined the release of the power. He was the storm and he was the release. They would retrieve Raven, but at what cost to themselves?


 

A very high cost, apparently, as the Sith fleet pulled into real space right then and there and started their assault. Tobias could feel worry and fear in the Force.  A black tidal wave of darkness had just crashed upon their battlefield. He stood his ground in the Force, fighting a wave of fear and panic the Dark side had brought or enhanced. Not giving mental ground, he started to push back, and the wave receded. The other Jedi were quickly replacing their shock with determination. The big, scary Dark Lord was here, and each Jedi would fight him if it came to that. Perhaps even Vos, but he had his mission- they all had a job to do. Part of him tried to forget the nightmare he kept having these past few months, the one where he eventually faced him, not that he was scared of fighting him- but his recent victim at his feet.. 

 

“Alright.” He said aloud to the others around him, snapping himself out of the daze. “Here’s the plan; the pilots are starting to see an opening in the battlefield and they want to try a run on the station. Hornet Squadron is covering us in this region and is going to follow us in. I want shuttles 4-4, 6-7, 8-6, inset down the middle. Shuttles 3-4, 2-2, 5-6, sneak around the other side of the battle, don’t stray too far, we still want to get in there intact.” Tobias stressed that last word, and he didn’t just mean the shuttles. 

 

“Here after you’ll be called Lefty Squad and Pounder Squad. Lefty, the shield generators, artificial gravity pumps, communications, armories- those are your priorities. Pounder- Power Generators, preferably the biggest one if there's multiple. Hook Squad, ours, will break right and go around- a Trident pattern. Regardless of where we are we’ll be able to get some back up one way or another. We’re still under the cover, but we need to move. Squadrons, Reek, Hornet, Moria - Lefty, Pounder, Hook cover them respectively. That covers our sector, Shuttle 5-5, ready?”

 

Awkledgement lights winked on his helmet. 

 

“Begin count. The Ion Barrage is looking good, almost looks like a wave of hyperspace is hitting the station.” He and this small force was about to move into the fire zone. He waited, knowing no one would move until he called out. Suspense was building, and he felt that and the anxiety from the pilots around him. Tobias let out a heavy sigh, reflecting on his life and the responsibility he was now going to incur. He wrapped his hand around the loop above him and felt the right moment; “Go!” And felt the ships engines roar to life. They were all pushed back into one another, most were standing but holding onto hand loops. Barabels fit in vac suits, but not regular chairs. So most of his crew was standing and feeling the push. The internal compensators were just sluggish enough to make them feel the ship go. The shuttles started their run, and Tobias hoped they would all make it. Especially 5-5… He would see what this little crew could do. His, and the other teams.  

 

“This one is impressed as well, Master Vos!” A Barabel hissed behind Vos.

 

Smiling, he nodded at the Knight. “By this little rag-tag company and what we're about to do? Or by fitting into a Vac Suit?" He said, playfully.

 

He nodded his scaley head, baring his fangs in the alien smile. “This One meant the former, but is also amused at the Vac Suit."

 

Scanning the alien and the others in the shuttle, Tobias nodded with confidence. He scanned the crowd of about fifty for his apprentices. Not finding them, he checked his equipment. Combat Vac seal was still good, obviously. Blaster, A280-CFE, utility belt, and of course a few other things, he was ready. And so was the warriors in the shuttle with him. 

 

TL:DR

Assault Boats heading in with cover, except for one who is climbing 'above' the battlefield. (But still covered.)

Assignments for shuttles/battle groups.

Edited by Tobias Vos
TL:DR addition.

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OOC((Duel request for Mythos and Aidan's stunt double aboard the Scarab))

 

A black canvas painted with fleeting streaks of red, green, and blue, along with the occasional orange or blue blossom of explosive energy lay before Darth Nyrys. In another respect, it looked like a top down perspective RTS game, something she would have played with her friends during the Before. This wasn’t her first time being on a warship during a battle, but it was the first time that she had seen the Jedi maintain enough of a spine to commit to an extended firefight. She hadn’t been present at Onderon for the second battle, but she had read reports and according to them, the Jedi ran after only minimal contact. Apparently here they had sought to isolate the Black Sun fleet and overwhelm it with the help of their allies, the fragmented remains of the Galactic Alliance and the treacherous Imperial Remnant. Failures and oathbreakers were fitting company for the hypocritical Jedi.

 

On paper, the Jedi sounded like heroes of legend, warrior mystics dedicated to protecting the light and the people that carry it. Selfless individuals who wielded power but never owned it. Goodness in a vast void of apathy and cruelty. The reality however painted a far less compelling picture. Cultures genocided for failing to step in line, children stolen away from parents and forced into cult like indoctrination, slave armies of clones, planets burned or worse for picking the “wrong” side. War didn’t make heroes, only popular monsters, and the Jedi had been fighting this war for as long as the Sith had.   

 

Nyrys didn’t begrudge the Jedi for the life they chose, in different circumstances she would find it admirable, but their need to force others to surrender to their beliefs was unforgivable. Remembering her mother and father sitting her down and telling her that her Grammy and her aunts and uncles and cousins were all gone still brought forth palpable feelings of grief, loss, helplessness, and rage. It was a massive emotional wound shared by the survivors, and it was left untreated until it festered and became infected. When the Jedi saw what had been born of their actions, they admonished the weeping and the wounded for having such a darkness growing within them, and denied any wrongdoing. So much for champions of justice. The Galactic Alliance would later pardon the Jedi that committed the murders, and he would quietly slip away from the public’s narrow focus as new scandals and controversies arose. But his legacy remained, and the Kuati people would never forget the crimes of the Jedi and the Rebellion.

 

Now that legacy of violence had come to Dark Sun Station, and while killing its adherents would bring no meaningful justice to the dead of Kuat, it might just save the civilians on the station. She cast herself into the infinite chaos of interwoven connections between candle flames in the Force, a web of silver strands reflecting a sourceless iridescent light. After some searching, she found what she was looking for amidst the swirling confusion.

 

“Prepare bay epsilon for a shuttle seizure and inform gunnery that I want this enemy shuttle tractored in. I expect things will go smoothly, but just in case, be prepared to seal and vent the bay should things take an unexpected turn.”

 

The junior officer took the datapad with the shuttle designation and moved with purpose to execute Nyrys’s orders. Nyrys took a moment to regard the Dark Lord, inscrutable as always as he observed the battle unfolding. She wondered if her efforts had been enough to satisfy his expectations for a new agent. Perhaps her doubt was baseless, but it kept her sharp and always looking for ways to better herself.

 

“The Dark Lord is the will, and we are the blade.”

 

She punctuated the motto with a salute of thumping her hand over her heart while holding her sword just below the hilt on the scabbard. Gathering up her apprentice she departed to meet their new prey.

 

“The next phase of your training will require that you overcome an enemy of some ability, an adept of the Force like yourself, in single combat. I will not aid you in this trial outside of preventing outside interference, and failure most likely will result in death. May you find your worth in your sword’s poetry.”

 

The pair arrived at the bay and at Nyrys’s instruction took cover as the gunnery crew began reeling in their prey.

 

“Situations like this, find something that you trust to not fail under enemy fire, and wait for them to blow their load on the charge. They’ll always start with something meant to make people duck or leave cover, deny both, remain level headed, and when they get in range make a clean strike.” 

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War was nothing unusual for Mythos, its core concept close to a meld of hunting and policing, both of which had consumed his life. A veteran Marshal and a natural born hunter, his skills were as they should. And as chaos rippled around them, he was as a stone amidst it's current, solid and unwavering. Beneath the mask where darkness hid his gaze, his eyes were calm and alert, his mind collected and settled, as he gazed about the compartment toward his fellow passengers.

 

Most were still, despite the fear that had settled in their hearts and the unease that tempted their nerves. Some even fought to dismiss the shakes that trembled within themselves. But there were a few whom mimicked his own steeled persona, veterans in their own rights whether as Soliders of many wars or as natural born killers. But such was the way of the Galaxy, and even the paragons of the light held a gravitational pull for those with darkness within. War had that effect, turning sensible beings into vengeful and cold blooded warriors. And in a sense, Mythos was no different than them. After so many horrors witnessed, one would grow to welcome them as naturally as they were to draw breath. These were the beings who stood upon the precipice between light and dark, finding a balance within, lest they fall into its eternal abyss.

 

Mythos' foot slid forward as the transport halted, the confused and freaked pilots frantically accelerating, pressing random buttons only known to them as they attempted to maneuver out of the web upon which they had been caught within. Chaos erupted within the pressurized cabin as those with fear dwelling upon their hearts reacted without thought and some even recited prayers out loud in desperation. But for most, the moment of reality began to set in as the realization of the tractorbeam having grasped them brought forth a fury of emotions. And as for Mythos, the scar upon his back seared with arthritis as his thoughts fell back to Coruscant and the day he recieved it.

 

"It seems we've been caught boys and girls..." Mythos mumbled out loud as his mind returned to the moment, the towering Shistavanen making his way toward the rear and the exit. His large clawed hands grabbed handfuls of rebreathers and tossed them about the cabin. "There's not telling what to expect, so have these at the ready." Mythos gazed down at the one meant for him and seeing that it wouldn't fit, tossed it aside as his gaze shifted toward the front at the pilots. "Ensign, shut her down. There's no use fighting a losing battle."

 

As he turned back toward the rear of the ship at its exit, he grimaced beneath his mask, the sounds of him licking his chops silently echoing beneath its duraplated form as he brought forth the Scatter Rifle that adorned his shoulder to the ready, many of those behind him responding in unison. The inside grew eerily quite as they awaited what some felt was certain doom as only the clatter of teeth and gear managed to escape, the sounds of explosions and finally touch down erupting outside. And then silence fell completely as they listened for what awaited them, the ancient scatter rifle tapping the durasteel palm of his clawed gauntlet.

 

"Hunker down boys. Let's see who will be the first to enter?" Mythos spoke in anticipation, a glimmer in the Marshal's eyes.

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/2 /

 

T E N S I O N

 

 

 

 

The blackened warships were cocooned in a varnish of staggered smoke, a haunted fleet smeared with the acrylic polish of the most unnatural of predators. Hauls of weaponry sprouted an imagery of death and destruction, overwhelming firepower belching every practical ordnance into the crown of the Adi-Wan.  The distance from the target was at expected length, but the elevated and angular inlet of the Sith Fleet was menacing for any vessel that would undoubtedly fall within range. The blitzkrieg bombardment from the entirety of the Sith convoy would ordinarily tear the hinges off of whatever they deemed prey, the stream of focus-fire super-heating the very fabric of space. 

 

The surprise ambush was orchestrated near flawlessly by way of the communication relays that were left unhampered, and a stoical patience tempered by the strategy of the Spider. The known Jedi ship, a Mon-Cal of all the ships in their repertoire, was weakest from the crest of their design. Surprisingly however, the Mon-Cal remained unblemished, and crawling from those same coordinates was now a shore of star-fighters. The outbreak of firepower from the Black Scarab and the neighboring vessels that shouldered the beast, did little to sway their advancement, but would still rain through them nonetheless. The approach of the Jedi squadrons timed themselves for the immediacy of the hungering Sith squadrons. Widespread formations of TIE/D Defenders howled from their hangers, beginning with those that hailed boastfully from the flagship, ready for a dogfight. The deadlier and more experienced TIE/vn Silencers dispersed like a falling of a flower bloom, into the loose formation of their allied star-fighters. TIE Predators carefully shadowed in from behind the Defenders, the eyes of the formation as they appeared, watching closely for an opening.  

 

“Well will you look at these bad boys!” OM-72-8 cackled hilariously across the communications relay of the infamous OMEGA Squadron, easily amused by the sound of his own voice. Scout was first and foremost in breaking the fermented silence, grinning from ear to ear behind the ominous matte black of his helmet. “These coward fu-” Cursing them in chain, he riled with maniacal laughter and over-confidently roughed his controls, rolling the excellent maneuverability of his Tie/vn Silencer to the forefront of the formation. What followed was an innumerable amount of identical vessels that pulled forward and projected their natural shielding. Six TIE/vn silencer squadrons to be exact, included in such was OMEGA, in conjunction with at least ten squadrons of TIE/D defenders that burped into, and formed an obstructive blockade for the impromptu offensive against them. The swarm was frighteningly swift and plowed through the loose shrapnel, fractures of metal digressing entirely, but still finding damage on a small number TIE/D Defenders that trailed. For a few of the newer pilots, the surprise jeopardized their movement and forced unwieldy collisions. Overall, their transitioning was masterful, a keen testament to the imperialistic discipline stemming from their veterans. The technology of a projected energy shield on the TIE/vn Silencers enabled a soft push towards the opening bombardment, but the make-shift barricade would face perilous exposure if another shelling followed. Strangely, none came, and the enemy fighter squadrons escaped with a curious hit-and-run. 

 

In earnestness, the Sith-Imperial fighters were prepared and had been launched the moment the Sith Fleet pulled from hyperspace, the flight crews and pilots impatiently waiting for hours for the moment that their enemy would be revealed. Unfortunately, the apex of their arrival had been anticlimactic. OM-72-4, or call sign Huntress, sighed deeply as she rolled her eyes into another star system. “Already? They’re running already?!” The pitch in her voice hit a little higher whenever a smidgen of frustration set into her fuzzy eyebrows. All that meant was that call sign Scout, was laughing louder and more obnoxiously for his crew to hear or to mute. “..Wait, wait. Do you feel that? It’s happening again..” Laughter turned to curiosity, and curiosity turned to silence.

 

There was an unmatched wealth of experience in the connectivity of a battle meditation shared between the armies of the Sith that suddenly spiked the totality of their minds. The Dark King could only smile at the unraveling of the events before him, as he passively coupled the power and minds of those that drank from the dark side by the mere settling of his eyes, the many thousands chain-linked to his command. The synaptic fastenings were raw, and eerily intoxicating. The men, the women, and the creatures of the Sith Empire would forfeit any measure of inertia, and succumb to a brilliant and fervent focus. Their minds would become riddled with a euphoric sense of duty that over-matched the imperialistic doctrine that the masses had acceded to, fixating themselves now to the indomitable will of King Exodus and the Dark Side. Their enemies were most likely of the predictable sense, abstaining from the flush of emotion they felt whenever the presence of the Sith drew near, a tantalizing dread that was combined with an attempt to ignore the inevitable shadow that it cast. This was no welcoming, this was far from a familiarity that any Jedi here could understand. This was the drowning of the Light, a submerging of a cowering breed. To feel the itch of evil on their heels, was the understanding that the reaper could now see them, and that Death was here for them all.

 

The Emperor-King nested on a massive bridge, multiple walkways that spider-webbed with varying engineered constructs and the specialists to operate them. The oeuvre of the Anzati Arachnid, every chamber regally set with imperial decorum but equally met with a heavy saturation of Sith grandeur. An spider-legged iron-anchored command throne that opened up to the beautiful vista of battle, sat high above the footbridges to oversee the operations below. Exodus with eyes completely white, perched towards the mammoth view-port, feeling more than his eyes could see within these walls, fanning the flames of an imposing hive-minded concentration. Lady Nyrys kept an endearing proximity for a deal of time, before the hunt had called her name to purpose. 


 

“The Dark Lord is the will, and we are the blade.” 


 

She spoke the words before departure, and the words echoed in the minds of the Imperial Watch, whom made it their business to secure the position of their Emperor. Then, the words chanted across the battle meditation slowly, dripping into the brain-pan of all those that savored the mental convergence. Heavy attack formations now made up the advance guard of the Sith Fleet, constituted by the nine TIE/D Defenders squadrons, six TIE/vn Silencers squadrons, two Predator squadrons, four Scimitar Assault Bomber squadrons, and the brooding tip of the Bleeding Kyber. On their flanks were lighter formations, Blackblade and Warspite on the left flank, Hyperion and Sunder on the right flank. The rest of the fighter squadrons interchanged their positions at the rear.

 

The heavy attack lines of each heavy formation moved forward to spearhead the assault, still utilizing the open space from above, sub-light engines burning brightly at full power as the serrated ships sliced into the black of space, still unleashing the heaviest barrages towards the escaping Adi-Wan. The direction of the Sith Fleet aimed to sweep to the left of the Station, while maintaining their ninety-degree angle above the Jedi Fleet below. Trajectory would see them draw nearer to their allies, while their ‘northern’ latitude kept their free-fire safe from allies. Men and women of sure-fire command began boarding operations, assembling task forces to pursue the captured, and those that knew no better than to flee. The influx and influence of the Dark Lord was a windfall of a favor, more incredible of a skin than that of the darkest of nexuses to wear. In this web, a personal prey would soon make itself available for the King to feast on. Ventral and dorsal heavy turbo-lasers repeated their savagery with continued fire into the vacuum of space while cannons and launchers belched kaleidoscopic munitions at their enemies in the course of their chase. The Black Scarab loomed as the cornerstone of it all, blanketing the battlefield with vehemence. 

 

The relatively small crew of the Warspite faced a measure of panic as an imposing ISD-II maneuvered themselves into the fray and began firing a meatier barrage of turbo-lasers. The gunship was a horror when displaying its powerful arsenal, but the strength of the Misericordia and what it could carry, was no small thing. The distance between them and their adversaries was still considerable, but a few heavy-set turbolasers connected and smashed the integrity of the entire structure. The deflector shields heavily waned, fluttering before the acceleration of the corvette kicked into gear. The Warspite peeled from the flank of the Scarab and quickly employed evasive procedures, small and quick enough to ruse the firing from the brawny ISD-II from this range. The spearheaded Sith Fleet continued forward, and from above, on the tail of the Adi-Wan, aligning from the same angle they had come in on and advancing on it's starboard. This molded an interesting trajectory for the three forces in question; the Misericordia flanked the Adi-Wan, moving towards it's port, and the entire Sith Offensive angled downward, towards the starboard of the Adi-Wan and sweeping towards the left of the Dark Sun Station. Still, with the retreat of the Adi-Wan, there remained no vessels between them and the Sith amalgamation.  

 

 

 

*

Silencers and Defenders accept the initial assault with their projected/natural shielding.

Small scores of star-fighters are slightly damaged by the spread

Fleet continues to bear down onto the Adi-Wan, firing their full capacities

Formations fill out, while Warspite takes fire from the Misericordia, and separates slightly from formation

to take evasive measure. Star-fighters are deployed and spread into formations, at the ready.

The harassing  hunt continues

 

 

 

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Control, control was what was needed now.   The adrenaline that was coursing through his veins as he observed the shuttle was hard to control but manageable.  Focusing he examined the shuttle and reached out gently with the force to see what may be inside.  Ah force users, that meant Jedi.  Looking over to his master he couldn't discern what she was thinking but knew that when the time came he would lay down his life if needed to ensure she survived.  She had designs that would help to free the galaxy and he wouldn't allow those designs to be destroyed.  He himself had plans but in the end he knew that the knowledge he had aquired and written down would still be of use even should he fall.  The formula's for his creations were in their most basic stages but could be expanded upon.  Regardless though this would prove interesting when the shuttle opened, if it would indeed open.

 

Staring at the craft it powered down and seemed to acknowledge that it could not escape the hanger.  The creatures inside were tense, at least they gave off an aura of nervousness.  That is except for two of them.  They were the force users, one seemed quite powerful while the other appeared to be a neophyte, not unlike himself.  What mysteries could they share if they simply put aside their petty differences and worked to freeing the Galaxy of its outdated misconceptions.  He doubted that they would stop and swap stories but it was always in the forefront of his mind to attempt to gain knowledge, freely given being the prefered method.  However should it come to having to extract it through other means, well that was not something he would object to either.  Focusing instead on his surroundings he began to formulate potential plans of action for various scenarios, it was going to be an interesting day, even as the batte raged outside his mental focuse allowed him to ignore this and focus exclusively on the problem in front of him.

 

"Master, with your permision I will strive to deal with the lesser force user within the shuttle should it come to blows.  You have only to ask and I will lay down my life for our cause.  All I ask is that my work, the beginings of my work, be carried forward to help you and those like you achieve your dreams."

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Posted (edited)

((Jedi Fleet Post 3))

 

A constant stream of light played over the monitors of the Adi-Wan's bridge displays as the onslaught continued from the Sith fleet. The shields were doing their best, but they couldn't handle the amount of firepower being levied against the ship.

 

"Transfer control to the auxiliary bridge!" shouted Admiral Antilles as it becomes more than clear they cannot outrun or withstand the firepower against them. Even before the bridge crew could evacuate, the shields flickered under the strain and a series of explosions rippled metal and the bulkheads along the cruiser's dorsal. The bridge took a direct hit which tore apart a section of the hull exposing it to vacuum.

 

Adenna dove towards the central shaft containing the turbolift down inside the heart of the ship as everyone else who wasn't immediately killed or trapped attempted to do the same. As the atmosphere began to vacate the bridge, debris, consoles, and crew were sucked out into space. Adenna felt herself falling backward and reacted by reaching out to the doors of the turblift with the Force and pulling herself towards them. As she did, she grabbed one of the struggling bridge officers and pulled her along with her.

 

When Adenna reached the doors, she pulled herself in and to the side to escape the majority of the flow of air. Helping hands from those who had already made it grabbed the grandmaster and the other crewman and helped secure them. She looked back and saw only a couple of crew still left struggling to get to relative safety and pulled both of them in with some well placed tugs with the Force. With one more look over the ruined bridge, she slammed the control sealing it off and sending the survivors down into the rest of the ship.

 

Explosions continued to rock the ship as they sped down several score meters. Adenna looked at the mere dozen survivors and noted with great sadness that Admiral Antilles was not among them. She would mourn him later, but for now, adrenaline and determination kept her focused. Pulling out the commlink, she switched it to the third saved channel that linked her to the ship's command frequency. "Main bridge is down, as is Admiral Antilles. Shields won't hold, so dump the ordinance and evacuate the Adi-Wan. Repeat: abandon ship."

 

Adenna, along with the rest of the crew, began evacuating as a select few brave souls remained behind to do what was possible to keep the ship intact as long as possible. The shields were collapsing letting more and more shots melt the dorsal part of the ship until eventually they would collapse entirely and the Adi-Wan would be entirely at the mercy of the Sith bombardment. Even though the energy needed to fire the turbolasers and ion cannons was shunted to shields, the proton missile launchers required considerably less power to operate. With the Black Sun fleets looming ever closer, the gunners onboard dumped every single shot in their magazine at the Black Sun Victory class Star Destroyer Sariel's Judgment.

 

* * * 

Jedi Fleet Group Two continued its assault of the Dark Sun Station with a constant stream of ion cannon fire against the station in general and select turbolaser strikes against weapon placements. The goal was to disable the station and provide whatever cover was possible for the incoming assault shuttles. Commodore Neldis clenched his hands as he received reports of the impending demise of the Adi-Wan. With Admiral Antilles killed, he assumed command of the Jedi forces and began guiding their assaults.

 

The fighters from his fleet group were clearing out anything launched from the station or that had decided to poke its nose at them. The four squadrons of XJ7-wings from the Justice's Mandate formed up to make a proton torpedo run against the Golan I station with support from the Marauder corvette Shien'missiles. Once they launched two torpedoes each, they would continue past the defense station and launch another torpedo run against the engines of the ISD Holofernes while the Black Sun's fighters were engaging the GA A-wings.

 

Fighter forces from Fleet Group One in the thick of the battle would focus on defense against the Sith fighter forces while the bombers reformed to attack the Black Sun's Nebulon-B frigate Canto Bight Fiasco. The bomber force, once eight squadrons, had taken a few losses in their first bombing run against the Sith, but still had a tremendous amount of firepower to be focused on the weakened spine of the escort frigate. The main Jedi fleet continued to approach the Black Sun forces, engaging them at point blank range with the hopes of finishing off the weakened Sariel's Judgment then moving onto the next target of opportunity.

 

* * * * *

 

Summary:

Fleet Group One/Relief Flotilla (main Jedi force between the Sith and Black Sun)

The Adi-Wan is all but lost and is evacuating in escape pods and shuttles. It dumps the entire magazines of its proton torpedo launchers at the VSD Sariel's Judgement.

With the exception of the Lancer class Shii-Cho (which is providing anti-fighter support), all ships are focusing on the Sariel's Judgement.

Fighters are focusing on keeping the Sith fighters at bay while bombers are preparing a torpedo run against the Nebulon-B Canto Blight Fiasco.

 

Fleet Group Two

Taking unfocused but accurate fire from Dark Sun Station and returning with ion barrages and focused turbolaser strikes back at the weapons emplacements. All ships present take light damage and lose some shield energy

Most of the fighters focus on precision strikes against the station since there is minimal harassing fighter screen

Four squads of XJ7-wings make torpedo run on the Golan I supported by the Maurader corvette Shien.

Edited by Adenna Alluyen

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((Armiena Draygo.))

 

Draygo couldn’t stop looking at the shape beyond Dark Sun Station. Even as stray rounds of flak detonated nearby and rattled the cockpit, slamming her head into the durasteel girders and cutting a miniscule gash into her unhelmeted forehead, the veteran Jedi couldn’t take her eyes off the malevolent shadow that the Scarab seemed to cast into the black.

 

“S-foils ‘tack positions, shields forward. Um, Genesis? I am about to do something very stupid.” A series of metallic clacks and electronic beeps could be heard from her station as she worked at the control surfaces of the B-Wing. “My son’s under the guns of that monster. If I can peel away some of their forces, grab the attention of some of their fighters so our shuttles can make it to Dark Sun… I’m very sorry if I get us both killed.”

 

During this time, while the B-Wing’s alarms were humming warnings of enemy batteries attempting to track their juking fighter, Armiena had been making an unorthodox and illegal alteration to their Identify Friend/Foe transponder. At the very end of her apology, their transponder code had been altered to reflect that of a neutrally-aligned vessel and the ship had been given a new name.

 

She thumbed the ship’s comlink to transmit without encryption, so that anyone within range could listen.

 

Armiena had found from decades at war that the mention of her name tended to provoke three types of responses: a sort of trusting devotion, murderous rage and blaster fire, or utter indifference. There were few exceptions to this rule: people generally would follow her into battle and trust her to get them through alive, or they would attempt to kill her, or simply try to forget that she had ever lived. At this moment, Armiena was counting on those highly polarized responses to peel away as many forces from the Black Sun fleet as possible.

 

Her hands pulled back hard on the controls, sending the B-Wing into a steep climb. She dumb-fired a proton torpedo into a flight of approaching TIE Defenders, a blind shot guided only by the Force that she immediately forgot about--even when the warhead pierced cleanly through the canopy of one of the fighters thirty seconds later and painted the interior of the fighter with the viscera of its pilot. But that was a half-minute into the future, and Armiena was focused on grabbing the attention of every single Black Sun squadron that she could and surviving the next few minutes.

 

She cleared her throat and screamed into the comlink: “Say my name!”

 

Any sensor that targeted her would find that she had changed the name of her B-Wing starfighter to I Am Armiena Darkfire.


The starfighter plowed into the fray heedless of numbers or escort, corkscrewing through the enemy fighters towards the Totenkopf II. In a moment, that ship could lock down the entire engagement and prevent the Jedi from withdrawing, dooming the entire fleet and her son to its guns. It needed to die, whether under her guns or under her lightsaber.

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The path they chose wasn’t clear though, and a member of Hornet Squadron, their escort, took a hit and exploded. The pilot somehow survived, that much Tobias could feel. There were others who weren’t so fortunate, one of the enemy fighters exploded off on their flank, Hornet Squad taking revenge for their destroyed craft. One after another a flash of light would flare up. 

 

Turning his back to the view port, he looked over the beings in the shuttle with him. The nine Barabel, one Noghri, three Wookiee’s and the various human and humanoids, too indistinct to stand out in their armored vac suit, save for the Nautolan at his side, focused on the fight ahead of them. 

 

“Brace for impact!” One of the pilots said, and Tobias called to the force to help steady him. As did all the other Jedi in the shuttle. The vessel spun and it did lessen the impact of the missile that impacted the side of the shuttle. Sliding sideways towards the station as if drifting sideways on a race track.

 

Tobias had briefed the others in the shuttle and described a vague battle plan. Currently, their presences reverberated with anticipation of the coming fight. The warriors in each of the shuttles didn’t have to wait long, as they just heard the call out from the pilots. “Boarding party, stand ready.”

 

The forty five others in the shuffling from foot to foot and started to check their weapons and equipment. 

 

“Ten seconds!”

 

They braced as the ship swung to the side, the station looming in the forward viewport. Showing the battle going on outside, the fleet pressing further and further towards the station, ion batteries still firing a stream of blue bolts into the station. The port side of the shuttle came to life as magnetic grapples shot into the station and the boarding tube shot forward, torching a hole into the station with plasma torches around the pod. 

 

Tobias made his way to the front of the crowd. After all who was he to ask others to lay down their lives if he didn’t do the same? He was a leader, not a boss and he’d chosen to lead by example. Pulling the burst rifle from his back, he checked the power pack and it was still charged to capacity. 

 

With an exertion from the Force, his face shield slid shut and he was sealed inside the suit. A brief moment of darkness and he seized the moment to breath and flood his presence with satisfaction and pride. They were about to dive into the fight. 

 

The laser cone finished, and the internal iris spread open to reveal the station interior, and their welcoming committee as well as a section of bulkhead on the floor. A fire team of Black Sun enforcers awaited them when they surveyed the scene. Tobias snorted as he pulled the trigger twice and let loose six shots. The four bodies hit the floor, holes burned into their flesh.

 

“Go!” Tobias shouted into the comlink and the 46 warriors charged into the station. Not blindly, and not foolishly. There were fireteams stationed at intersections and critical points. Or at least there would be once they progressed further into the station. 

 

The Barabels on the other hand started to sprint forward, leaving the others behind. They had their own mission. Tobias and crew moved forward and reports came in one at a time that each shuttle had discharged their contents, fifty or so warriors, into the station. 

 

As the barabels turned left and disappeared, Tobias turned right and soon came to find himself looking at a dozen Enforcers. They were ready, and Tobias didn’t even try to duck back behind cover. He just vaulted across the intersection and into the other side of the hallway. 

 

A dozen others followed suit and the firefight ensued, brief but bloody. One of the Jedi fell to a bolt through the shoulder from popping out too far from cover. Two others escorted the injured man back to the previous checkpoint and they would follow suit all the way back to the shuttle. 

 

The dozen plus Tobias made their way forward. Occasionally bumping into enforcers or other resistance. While they had been on the station less than five minutes, it was still quick enough for the Adi-Wan to go down. Tobias was so informed by one of the shuttle pilots relaying updates. A quick check with the Force and he could feel Adenna’s presence still. And healthy. 

 

Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to run back into the shuttle and rescue her. Or even call the Prism in to retrieve her. Tobias has both loved and hated the plan Adenna proposed and went with. Tobias did not relay the Adi-Wan’s destruction, making such announcements would only distract the boarding parties. If they wanted to pull the odds back in their favor, they would have to win this part. His team was almost at their mark, and the final part of the retrieval would commence. 

 

~~~ 

 

Shuttle 5-5 had gotten to the ‘top’ of the station a little battered, but otherwise healthy and intact. Once it had gotten there the shuttle corkscrewed down the length of the station, maneuvering towards the bottom. Once there, the boring lasers latched onto the station and discharged its  complement of infiltrators. 

 

~~~ 

 

Elsewhere the shuttles managed to find a spot to latch onto and spill their contents into the station. While each shuttle did make it, there were some casualties- mostly their fighter escorts but some attacks on the shuttle found their mark. Most of the healthy warriors made their way onto the station.

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((As Jek Squall))

 

Jek had seen conflict. The Zabrak had been in skirmishes before, he'd been forced to draw blood. It was something no Jedi relished in, but in the back of their minds knew that some day it could easily happen. This, though? This was war on a scale Jek couldn't have fathomed. He hadn't even faced off against a Sith before, though he'd been trained.

 

There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity.

 

The words repeated over and over in his mind as the shuttle traversed silently through the war zone. At any moment, a stray turbolaser or missile could have ended them. Instead, something much worse rocked the ship as they neared the station: a tractor beam. The enemy had them now, likely directing them to a fortified position where it would be easy to slaughter all of them. 

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

 

As the shuttle touched down, he took a rebreather from the Shistavanen, but knew that his call was the wrong one. "All due respect, but there's minimal resistance out there. We stay here and we're asking for a concussion rocket fired up the ramp to turn our insides into goo. If we want to survive this, the only answer is to press forward while we still have a chance to take up a solid beachhead against them!"

 

Taking a spare blaster from the shuttle's emergency weapon rack, Jek checked the charge and then swiftly headed out of the shuttle. The young Jedi used his lightsaber to cover the scattering of blaster fire hailed at him as he quickly surveyed the situation in the mad dash for the closest cover. There were only about ten or so troopers already in the bay, at random positions. The technician workers were still  clearing the bay, but had scattered at the first sounds of blaster fire, fearing for their lives. Jek knew this was only the beginning, and in a couple minutes this hangar was likely going to be swarming with troops and heavy weapons fire. 

 

His gaze turned upwards as he scrambled for a plan, and he noticed a network of maintenance catwalks near the ceiling of the hangar. Summoning the Force to him, his legs recoiled, rocketing the Zabrak up to neatly land on one of the catwalks. If he was seen, then he would only draw fire away from the crew below, and he was now in a superior position to return fire. This may have been his first major engagement, but he was determined to not have it be his last.

 

There is no death, there is the Force.

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The rapid disembarking of the crew from the small shuttle came as no surprise.  What was a slight surprise was the actions of the force sensitive Zabrak.  No, not just force sensitive, a jedi of some form based on the light sabre.  It was an interesting strategy to take the high ground in a fight such as this.  The blaster would provide a small means of generic combat but not a great amount there of.  However he may be capable of using the force in some long range way.  But no matter, that was not his concern.  Turning to his master he bowed slightly and then gathering the force into himself he enhanced his muscles prior to making the leap to provide heightened speed and agility upon landing.  Without further preamble he leapt to the cat walk while drawing the sabre into his hand though not activating it.

 

Landing on the platform he took a few steps towards the Zabrak, gathering the force around himself, he didn't use it as an attack, but more used it to create a barrier.   It was tempting to strike the Zabrak in the back as he had landed intentionally behind him.  However he couldn't, his honor wouldn't allow.

 

"I don't mean to intrude on your belief that you have taken the high ground but I fear you have not.  I thought to strike you before you realized my presence among all the other living beings but there would be no honor in it.  If you would turn to face me I would like you to indulge my courtesy by answering a question.  Why do you use the power the cosmos has given you the way you do, why not use it to free those who cannot free themselves and to spread power and knowledge through the galaxy?"  

 

While waiting for a response he dropped into a Thrysian combat stance and began formulating a strategy for dealing with the Zabrak after he answered the question.  It was after all his first time dealing with a Jedi and he had to understand why they acted the way they did, hiding their power and only allowing its use if used how they directed.

 

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OOC((Incapacitation of NPCs was agreed upon over Discord, I’ve also agreed to no NPCs interfering with the Mythos duel on the Sith side.))

 

After a time, the ramp fell, and a Jedi shot out of the hold and up onto the maintenance catwalks like a small rodent on methamphetamines. Her apprentice dutifully followed him up, knowing what was expected of him in this encounter. Nyrys, not keen on having her apprentice’s test interfered with, turned her attention to the disembarking rebels. At her suggestion, their minds perceived their weapons turning into venomous snakes and striking at them until they collapsed into a catatonic stupor. 

 

Well, all of them save for a Shistaven canid. She had studied them in her sociological trends of sapient predatory species class at uni, they were physically capable with the keen senses that were part and parcel of being a superior hunting species. In many ways they were similar to the Cathar, in a poorly refined, underevolved sort of way. Budget Cathar. But an intriguing distraction nonetheless. 

 

Unnatural silence began to infect the air as an otherworldly fog flooded into the bay, a crimson bank of obscuration. It was an obvious illusion, but knowing that it was an illusion did not necessarily lift it’s suffocating pall. The fog did not reach the catwalks, Nyrys had been sincere in her position of not aiding her apprentice in his test. Darth Nyrys drew Brathiad Gwynt as she started to feel the dread and suffering of the innocents on Dark Sun station. When military ships were hit with ion cannons, the crew knew the appropriate procedures, had equipment to survive, and knew that engineers would be working to fix things. A junior banker living in an econo hab block as a wage slave wasn’t going to have any of those reassurances as the station went dark, the power doors stopped working, and the life support died. It was going to be Kamino all over again.

 

Blistering fury gushed through Nyrys like molten steel and she flowed through the fog like a quicksilver apparition, darting in with a light probing strike from Brathiad Gwynt before departing with preternatural speed back into the fog. Mockingly playful laughter accompanied her during the attack, sourceless and disconcerting.

 

“I can feel them dying right now, you know. How can you claim to care about the innocent when you always so casually sacrifice their lives in horrific ways? The Crusaders rampage through the core and you do nothing but hide, but a military strike against a civilian space station and suddenly you’re all patriots of justice? COWARDS, ALL OF YOU!”      

 

Duel Post One Darth Nyrys vs Mythos

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"Easier to do when you can wave your magic wand around and redirect bolts" Mythos mumbled out loud as the Jedi ran headlong into the forte, motioning the troops to follow as he took the Jedi's charge as a chance to stretch his limbs outside the small containment. Watching the Jedi briefly as he scanned the area, he could only chuckle at the brashness as the engagement began. "Good way to get yourself killed being the lone first man out."

 

War was something Mythos knew little about, an Alliance Marshal's job being only track down hardened criminals and rogue Jedi and/or Soldiers in derelict of their duties. Nor did he like the idea of being back into a corner as he had done just moments before. But scuffles were something he did know of, his many years of experience through countless operations where anything and everything did go wrong. So when they were tractored aboard, he did only what any seasoned vet would do, and that was to let the enemy strike first and reveal their hands before he did. He carried many scars from this course of action, and he bore them with pride. But as he gazed upon the foe that stood before him, his blood boiled as the scar upon his back throbbed.

 

As him men dropped around him, only one suggestion remained, the infamous dark mystics known to carry a name of a long dead sapient species: Sith. Glaring at the feminine body before him through the metallic mask he adorned, his jaws dripped with angered saliva, his gaunleted hands gripping tightly upon the ancient scatter rifle he carried to the point that its stock ached to crack and break. And even as the misty fog that followed ached to cloud his mind, his gaze remained fixated with deadly intent. Yet her skill and prowess was too much for even his attention to detail and movement, the hunter soon losing sight of her briefly as his face shot around to regain his fixation. Of all the mystics in all of the worlds that made up the Galaxy, her kind was the ones he hated most, for at least the Jedi attempted to use their powers to aid the helpless. But her kind, power and selfishness were the only traits they knew. And he knew the only way he would survive would be to level his mind and reign in his hatred.

 

Deep breaths and long exhales accompanied his search, the Shistavanen letting go of his Marshal's train of thought and letting the Hunter within gain control as he followed the fluidity shadows that darted about when her first strike came and went. Raising his rifle at the last second, he was capable of blocking the full blow, but she still managed to slice through the upper sleeve of his duster and graze the skin and fur beneath. Flinching briefly, he released and lowered his hand to clutch the graze while carefully staying alert, unsure of what may have coated its blade as his ears twitched in search of the slightest of sounds. But all that was heard was the taunting of laughter and words of a self-righteous ego. But then again, he supposed his own was one to match. Just before the voice finished, Mythos fired the scatter rifle in its direction, hoping to at least return the favor.

 

"Anyone who aligns themselves with known criminals whether for profit or personal gain has lost their innocence. There is only the law to follow." The Marshal barked back as best he could, his grizzly voice echoing its harshness through the tangled vocal cords where his throat once recieved a coward's blade. "As for the Crusade of the Core, the ransacking of Coruscant, all began at the hands of your own kind. Only your Dark Magics are capable of moving celestial bodies like Hesperidium. Opportunities such as that always bring out the lawless and why Marshals like myself return to active duty." 

 

Tossing the Scatter Rifle aside, Mythos drew his blade, his gaze still shifting about through the fog, watching... waiting... for her next move.

 

((1))

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The strange and archaic weapon had a greater spread than Nyrys anticipated, and as a result it still clipped her shoulder armor and sent her spinning, although her training kept her from losing her footing completely. She recovered by extending her left leg, bending her right, and lowering her center of gravity with dancer like poise until she reached a predatory stance. 

 

“Did it ever occur to you that by that logic you’re just as guilty of your own side’s massacres? I’m from Kuat, and my people were builders on one of the civilian ship manufacturing stations. They had no part in this damned war, and they were slaughtered anyway. Maybe you can explain to them why they had to die?”

 

It was like vomiting acid and tears, crafting and projecting this illusion. To take those happy images of her cousins, aunts, and uncles, and twist them into representations of their mangled corpses. What remained was virtually inhuman, but with just enough humanity to bring about that unsettling connection. Their flesh was burnt into grotesque mockeries of human faces, and their movements were disjointed and fitful, the bones and muscles that supported them broken and torn by incomprehensible force. The little bodies clutched the remains of favored toys that they had once held for reassurance as the New Republic murdered them all with self righteous zeal.

 

However, despite their monstrous appearance these were no boogeymen or phantasmal chimera meant for attacking. They were effigies of sadness and mourning, weeping as they shambled and crawled towards the marshal. All of them had the same one word question on their blistered lips.

 

“Why?”

 

A chorus of scared and confused voices erupted from the amassing crowd of bodies as they circled and pressed in on the Shistavanen. Nyrys herself stood in the background, clutching a nearby console and trying to choke back tears from having to imagine her family this way. Her blade was ready to guard but she made no move to attack. She drowned the room in an even deeper quietude, one so heavy that you would have to strain to hear even shouting. Only the whispered question was permitted to be heard easily in the room.

 

((2))

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His eyes went misty as her words echoed through-out the fog, Mythos finding truth in her deceitful and misguided words as he thought back to Coruscant, to the days he spent upon it's cityscape, to his leaving, and what happened just a few weeks ago. He remembered that very moment as he sat within that distant Cantina and saw the horrific scenes of mass hysteria and people leaping from skyscrapers just to escape the engulfing flames, the scenes as looters and law enforcement alike fought it out just to grasp control over ships to escape, children trampled over. It was enough to make a two meter Shistavanen welp like a pup. But deep within, it was also enough to make his blood boil with the heat of a billion stars as he saw it unfold.

 

He opened his eyes, tears strolling across his fur lined snout and down his mawl as he heard her words finish. "Your people were no more different than those of Coruscant, innocent lives lost over selfish displays of power by those whom deem themselves above the law." He spoke, his voice even more choked by the memories that still haunted his mind, haunted his soul because he had not been there to protect them when they needed him most. "And like myself you weren't there to protect them, were you? We can both hide behind the false bravado that we were capable due to our absences. But the truth remains, we weren't there out of selfishness in the fact that we chose to follow our own paths instead of where they needed us."

 

Just as Mythos finished his words, shadows began to move about the crimson fog even as his misty eyes focused upon them, the Shistavanen gripping tight the hilt of his blade as he readied for their attack. But the grotesque figures that began to emerge horrified him in ways he had never felt before. His fur stood upon its ends, his skin crawled beneath, and a chill ran it's way down his spine that caused his form to tremble for the briefest of seconds. Quietly in his mind, he questioned: "Who are these beings? Kuat? Coruscant? Has this woman truly raised the dead to haunt me even more?"

 

Fear set in and Mythos, still gripping his blade, slowly began to back up as words and wailing echoed. Yet, he found himself encircled, unable to escape, as they began to enclose upon him from all directions. His hands trembled furiously, his mind scanning every possible avoidance to keep from engaging the dead. But with each passing second, they grew closer and closer upon him, and the nearest position above him laid too far away for even him to jump. And to make things worse, all he could hear were their constant echoing plea. Lowering his head, he shook it. He would not die this day, even to appease the dead and forgotten. Sliding his dominate foot backwards, Mythos readied his blade and pushed forward, tears flowing as he struck the closest foe before him in desperation, their question still preying upon his mind. "Why?"

 

But as he cleared the visage, Mythos mind could not comprehend the realization of the apparitions. Filled with mixed emotions, Mythos huffed, thankful that he did not cleave a truly undead being into, but angered that his opponent would have delved in such tactics. His shoulders slouched just a second before he raised them high and let resound a deafening howl in anger as the lost souls turned back toward him, the single question still echoing in his mind. "You call me coward, but you hide behind apparitions and sorcery rather than confronting me face to face. Have you no sense of honor?" He yelled out, hoping his opponent would hear. 

 

((2))

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((Duel between Jek Squall and Drago

 

As Jek Squall))

 

The hair on Jek's forearms bristled as his Force senses told him danger was fast approaching. Mere seconds later a Chiss leapt the impossible distance to the catwalk where Jek had taken position, clad in Echani armor adorned in Sith colors. The taint of the Dark Side was one Jek recognized, and immediately knew this was no normal adversary. Whirling, the Zabrak snapped off two shots from his blaster pistol, only to harmlessly splay across the Force Barrier his opponent had summoned.

 

As the Chiss began talking Jek's mind raced, he'd made a terrible decision attempting to seek shelter among the catwalks, as there was practically no cover. He was counting on the fact that the enemy wouldn't be able to follow, but of course with Sith on the battlefield Jek should have known better. It was time to improvise. 

 

"We are here to free someone. Someone you fight to keep imprisoned. Your attempts to cloud my mind will fail, as you will, Sith."

 

Jek spat the last word, remembering his last master, ruthlessly slain by a Sith long ago as he attempted to protect a Wookiee village against a rampaging Empire. Now, the Sith were their own entity, a cancer on the galaxy growing by the day. Jek would be the cure.

 

The Force is my ally, and a powerful ally it is.

 

Jek knew he needed to dive deeper into the station to make the best use of his training. Trusting in the Force, he once again hurled his lightsaber, guiding it in a wide arc behind the Sith to neatly cut the catwalk a few feet behind him. Meanwhile, Jek broke into a sprint for one of the open maintenance hatches near the wall of the hangar, nearly a hundred feet away. As he pulled the saber back to him, he kept his wits about him should the Sith attempt to pursue or send a projectile his way. Ideally, the catwalk should have fallen a bit under its own weight, but Jek didn't bother to wait and find out how well the catwalk was built.

((1))

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       Aleria fidgeted with the clasps that held her saber hilts while she settled into the assault shuttle, prepping her vac suit and listening to the verbal assault that Sanderson aimed at her and Kel for staying out too long. Once the last seal on her suit was complete, regardless of any protest, Aleria sat on the open metal floor amidst several standing soldiers, closed her eyes, and waited. Several moments drifted by. The smell of sweat was ever-present. But, with effort, Aleria managed to drown it out. The sounds of the soldiers talking started to fade. The sounds of booming concussive death machines that echoed through the steel all around them began to fade. Even the stubborn thoughts that rattled in her brain-pan began to fade as she breathed in and out. Once or twice Aleria was almost kicked by a jostling soldier, but she shifted her weight and managed to avoid the bulk of their incidental blows. She knew that there was no aggression. No. Everyone was waiting; waiting for the inevitable march; waiting for the trials ahead; waiting to see who would live and who would die, and waiting to see whether they would fail their objective. Even trained soldiers felt fear. Even trained soldiers felt apprehension. 

 

       But Aleria didn’t need that right now. She needed to focus. They wouldn’t find Raven if she couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to protect anyone if her nerves were a mess. The word protect sent tingles into the organic half of her body, signaling a phantom pain that still remained despite her prosthetic replacements. What would Roene say if he were here?


 

       Aleria was cold, sitting at the edge of the camp. It was weeks after the accident and her body had healed enough for her to move around but she still had no right arm and her depth perception was horrible. Trying to use the force was like driving a steel pike into her brain. It was terrible and parts of her wished she could just curl up and die. 

 

       The sound of movement stirred her fatalistic musings and she turned to find an old Cerean just at the edge of her perception. He wore an old brown robe that covered most of his body, but his undeniable cone head poked through the hood. 

 

       “You seem troubled.” He said, after a few moments of silence. 

 

Aleria didn’t respond.

 

       “Not going to speak, huh?” The Cerean continued.

 

Aleria stared out at the Borleias horizon.

 

       “Well, if you’re not going to talk then you can listen.” The Cerean sighed as he took a knee beside Aleria. “I was once like you, troubled and in pain. I lost something close to me and had no ready way of getting it back. I sat on the edge of life and frittered away my existence, worried if I would ever get back to the way I was before. Do you know what helped?” The Cerean waited as if Aleria would actually answer the question but kept talking when he was met with more silence.

 

       “Finding new things that I *could* do. Moving on from the woe and working with the skills I had to make something of my situation. It was the only way I could get past my loss.” 

 

       Aleria shifted uncomfortably, the pain in her arm splintering into something her brain couldn’t readily process. 

       “Well did you ever lose almost half of your body?” Aleria said, turning to face the old Cerean with a downcast expression. Bandages covered the right half of her body excluding her hip and leg. 

 

       The Cerean’s expression was soft. He placed his right hand on Aleria’s un-bandaged shoulder.

        “I can’t say what I lost was more egregious than you; a loss is a loss. The key is to learn how to use what you have. You aren’t a different person because you lost something. You might change your perception or change your training methods, but you’re who you are regardless of how much of you is missing. You just need to find a way to piece together what you have into a functional way of moving forward. And I can help.”

 

       Aleria tried to reach out with the force and touch the Cerean’s mind, to understand what he lost. She braved the searing pain as she delved back into the force only to find that the Cerean was a huge scorch mark. Where Jedi would normally see a conduit for the force or lack of one in a non-force user, the Cerean had a massive black spot. Aleria’s eyes widened and she choked back a tiny gasp. 

 

           “I take it by your expression you went prying into an old man’s business without his permission, eh?” The Cerean said, feigning an inquisitive eyebrow.

 

       Aleria’s face flushed and she buried her face in her unbandaged palm. 

       “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean, I wanted to…”

 

       The Cerean laughed, “it's alright. You’re welcome to look. One of the greatest assets a Jedi has is being able to see what others cannot; being able to sense the things around them. I can’t blame you for being curious. I can warn you its dangerous, but I have a feeling people have said that to you before. Now, something I learned while I could still touch the force is that you need to have a good grasp on the physical parts of your training. If you just focus on the spiritual stuff, you lose out on the physical conditioning and the rigors of a good combat regimen.”

 

       “But what does that have to do wit-” Aleria tried to interject.

 

       “-let me finish. Because you were so used to using the right part of your body, your left half was neglected. But even your left half can be as strong as your right if you train it to be. In the same way that your physical prowess can be as strong or stronger than your force powers. The key is to visualize what you want to achieve and go for it. So... how many one-armed push-ups can you do?” The Cerean finished, crooking his lips into a smile and unfurling his cloak to reveal that he too was missing a limb.

 

       Slowly letting the assault shuttle come back into focus Aleria smiled to herself. He had his own baggage, but he was a tough old alien.

 

       Aleria felt when the assault shuttle touched down. The entire cabin tensed. It was a palpable sensation that hung thick in the air. But she kept her head and body low to the ground. She tapped into the cold metal deck plating of the shuttle and extended her senses to what lay beyond. And although the force didn’t work like sonar or echolocation, it did give Aleria forewarning that they had a welcoming committee to contend with. She pushed through her feet to a standing position and walked over to Sanderson. He was dutifully trying to prep his men for their entrance and almost didn’t see her. When he turned to face her he wore a professional expression that seemed to mask something deeper. 

 

       “Well well well,” Sanderson started with a self-important hue to his imperious tone. “It seems you’ve finally decided to pay attention to the task at hand. We’ve been given our assignments and will be heading out in a few seconds. Get ready.”

 

       “Well, Commander, you should know-” Aleria tried.

 

       “What I should know is that you’re wasting valuable time.” Sanderson finished.

 

       “But there are toops-” Aleria tried, again.

 

       “Yes, there are troops waiting for my command. Now, if you would be so kind, please get to a ready position and await my command.” Sanderson finished with a derisive snort.

 

       “Yes, sir.” Aleria sighed with resignation.

 

       When the assault shuttle’s hatch began its opening procedures and the troops were just about to march into the station, a prickly sensation climbed up the base of Aleria’s skull. She heard a small hiss of exhaust as a mechanical projectile took to the stale recycled air and headed directly for the assault shuttle as the landing platform descended. The direction wasn’t certain, but she didn’t have time to debate the thought in her head. Aleria tumbled through the mess of troops between her and the slowly growing portal, pooled the force in her hands and then sent it outward. The bubble of force caught the opening beams of a blaster volley and sent one rocket careening harmlessly into the ceiling. Aleria continued by deflecting the remaining bolts of the opposition’s opening volley and scrambled to find cover along with Sanderson’s troops.

 

       The next few moments passed by quickly with a mess of red and green blaster fire as the troops filtered out of the shuttle and into the station. But Aleria still managed to raise her left eyebrow at Sanderson as if to say, I told you so.

 

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With her enemy making no effort to press her, Darth Nyrys was able to collect herself from the self inflicted trauma of the emotional attack and skulk closer. The way of the assassin was very different from her warrior roots, turning strength into weakness rather than directly measuring strength against strength. One was more suited towards bettering the galaxy, the other towards bettering herself, both were important.

 

Darth Nyrys heard all of the marshal’s words, but would not be baited out prematurely, or breach operational security to point out that she had been on Mandalore to intercept the Crusaders, only leaving when the Dark Lord had called his banners to respond to this latest rebel atrocity. Instead, she gathered her rage, her sorrow, and her pain in a deep inhaling breath, focused that energy into a weapon, and upon closing a good deal of the distance, released it along with ending her sound dampening illusion in a Dark Side infused banshee cry. Her intention was to turn the Shistaven’s acute hearing against him, maybe even rupturing his eardrums and ruining his balance. The near silence that she had been permeating through the hangar from the start of the fight was like sharpening the blade of this attack to a razor’s edge. The energy itself carried a great deal of negative emotions, and the terror on Dark Sun Station was coalescing enough that Nyrys could tap into it for additional power.

 

Pushing the offensive, Nyrys followed the shout with a series of thrusting strikes with Brathiad Gwynt. Fear and anger would make the necrosis from any successful strikes course through the marshal’s veins. The sword’s cursed blade blazed with green flame upon hearing yet another excuse for the rebellion’s murderous actions as it was driven forward. Her strikes were practiced and meticulous, capitalizing on her greater blade length advantage and more melee oriented armor.

 

"I showed up when my people needed me, that's why I'm here today.  To stop monsters too self righteous to realize what they are doing is wrong, like you."

 

((Nyrys vs Mythos 3))

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Orders

 

The Admiral and grand general of the Felix Legions considered her padawan’s request with something akin to a mix of eagerness and bloodlust. Death was all around them now, every millisecond she could feel a life snuffed out in its prime. The Hunger was all consuming. It made her mouth water with every death. 

 

“There are Jedi trying to rescue their toy empress on board the glorified bank called Dark Sun. We will make a channel for you and yours. Follow the bloodlust and take some troops with you. Find a Jedi and kill him or her for me. Bring the head and you will find reward.” 

 

She put a hand gingerly on his shoulder.

 

Do the Dark Lord proud and he will not forget you. And nor will I.” 

 

What next she said was only to him. 


Take what provisions you need and leave with the troops, some five thousand will be leaving from the hanger in a few minutes. You have my trust. May the force be with you. 

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